


Slap-slap-kiss, or how Emma and Regina really got together

by HelveticaBrown



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/F, Humor - I hope, Won't you take me to tropey town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4073395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelveticaBrown/pseuds/HelveticaBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something very strange going on in Storybrooke, and Emma Swan is determined to get to the bottom of it, with Regina's help. Only problem is, she can barely manage to spend two minutes in Regina's presence without something even weirder happening.</p><p>Warning: contains traces of nuts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A swan, a witch and a wardrobe (closet)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is what happens when I spend hours trying to learn the Renin-Angiotensin-Aldosterone system and then can't get to sleep. All I can say is that I apologise unreservedly for inflicting this product of my delirious brain on you. The second (and final) part should be up tomorrow, once I finish editing it.
> 
> This is vaguely canon-compliant in parts, if you drop a tab of acid first and squint really hard. I've taken some serious liberties though, and completely thrown canon out the window in places, in search of cheap laughs.
> 
> Feel free to throw as many rotten tomatoes at me as you want. I deserve every one of them.

* * *

There was something so _exhilarating_ about wielding power tools. Emma was in her happy place as she attacked the apple tree with the chainsaw. The sound of metal tearing through wood, the vibration of the motor, the feeling of strength as the chainsaw bucked and surged against her grip, the idea of subjugating something so powerful and dangerous, bending it to her will... She was so lost in the sensation that she barely noticed when Regina had appeared at the edge of the garden, almost forgetting the purpose of this whole activity. She killed the motor and set the chainsaw down as Regina advanced on her from across the garden, moving surprisingly quickly across the soft turf for someone wearing shoes with a four-inch stiletto heel.

As Regina berated her, Emma felt a strange and irresistible impulse driving her forward. Suddenly, she was toe-to-toe with Regina, could feel her hot breath hitting her face, could see the heat and rage flashing in her eyes. And then, her lips were pressed against Regina’s soft, soft lips. It took Emma a moment to realise what she was doing. _What the actual fuck?_ She pushed Regina away and stood there, confused and breathing heavily.

Regina angrily wiped her mouth. “Miss Swan! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I have no fucking idea.” Emma curled her lip in horror at the thought of what she’d just done. “I think I might have a concussion.” _That must be it._ “I tripped and hit my head earlier today. I clearly can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Regina was torn between rage and, well frankly, more rage, but there was a glimmer of concern peeping through the red haze of her anger. Mostly it was concern about the possibility that the irritating woman in front of her might just collapse and die of a possible brain injury on her lawn, and then she’d have to find an appropriate place to dispose of the body. But did it really matter exactly where that concern originated from?

She did recall the incident that Emma was alluding to. She’d been walking down the main street this morning, when Emma had suddenly come hurtling past her and crashed into a lamp post. Regina had managed to step out of the way just in time, or she was certain that she’d have ended up in traction at Storybrooke General. Emma Swan, she’d observed over the past few days, had all the grace of a hippopotamus on roller skates, and none of the subtlety. She wanted this walking disaster out of her town right now, away from her son.

She sighed. “Come, Miss Swan. I’ll drive you to the hospital on my way to the Sheriff’s station to report you for destruction of property.”

*****

_Worst fucking nightmare._ She was trapped in an elevator with Regina Mills, who was currently sitting on the floor observing her with cool detachment.

Emma pressed the Emergency Call button for the fifty-seventh time to no response, before hammering at the doors and then checking her cell phone for a signal. _Nothing. Fucking fuck._

“Why is there even an elevator here? I mean, the building’s only two stories high.”

“That may be, Miss Swan, but you are the one who chose to take the elevator.”

Emma pulled a face. “Normally I’d take the stairs, but my ankle’s still really sore from when you knocked me over yesterday.”

Emma still couldn’t believe it. Regina, who normally glided along with all the deadly intent of a panther had suddenly developed the coordination of a baby giraffe on stilts. Heels that Emma had watched Regina walk in a dozen times suddenly made her look like one of those underfed catwalk models walking in shoes three sizes too big. She’d been stifling a laugh as she watched Regina stagger, up until the point when Regina had completely lost her balance, taking Emma with her.

“I hardly think it’s fair that you’re blaming me for our current predicament.”

Emma paused in her obsessive survey of possible escape routes. “Yeah? Well you seem to make it a habit to blame me for all sorts of things that I had nothing to do with.” Another thought occurred to her. “Anyway, you’re the Mayor, so maintenance of city facilities is ultimately your responsibility, isn’t it?”

Regina glared at her, and Emma was pretty sure from her expression that Regina was thinking about setting her head on fire. In the interests of not being beaten to death with one of Regina’s Louboutins, Emma abandoned the abortive attempt at conversation, and they sat there in silence, mostly ignoring each other. Periodically, Regina would look over at her and glare, and Emma made a point of summoning up her most beatific smile.

Minutes ticked by slowly; eventually, Emma got bored and tried to start another conversation. “Can we, I don’t know, maybe play I-Spy or something to pass the time?”

Regina smirked. “I find that meditation really helps. You should try it, although I doubt you’d have the mental fortitude for it.”

Emma couldn’t suppress her laughter. “Yeah, right. I can definitely tell that you meditate. You seem so calm and centred all the time.”

Regina ignored her insult. “Fine. I-Spy it is then. I’m going first.” Regina surveyed the limited surroundings intently, before arriving at the perfect answer. “I-Spy with my little eye something beginning with I.”

Emma frowned as she mentally catalogued all of the fixtures in the elevator, the few possessions they had with them and then tried to think of synonyms for them all. There was nothing she could think of that started with ‘I’. She looked over at Regina, trying to find some clue in her expression, in the direction of her gaze, but nothing came to her. Regina was looking directly at her, not even pretending to be anything other than smug.

Eventually, Emma had to admit that she was stumped. “You’ve got me. I can’t think of anything in here that starts with I.”

Regina started to laugh, and Emma idly noted that it was a sound not unlike the peal of bells mashed up with a chainsaw massacre.

“Idiot.”

Emma frowned. “No need to insult me because I couldn’t think of the answer.”

“No, the answer is idiot. As in, I’m staring at one right now.” Regina collapsed into a fresh bout of laughter.

Emma folded her arms and sulked in her corner of the elevator. _She really doesn’t get any less awful when you get to know her._ Regina Mills, Emma had decided, probably entertained herself by torturing kittens and then posting the videos on the Internet.

It was three hours later when someone finally found them. The confined space had become increasingly hot and airless, and Emma was down to a tank top and panties by that stage. Regina had stubbornly resisted as long as she could, but even she’d had to concede defeat and had removed her nylons, rolled up her sleeves and undone a couple of extra buttons. Emma couldn’t help but notice that even under these circumstances, Regina still looked irritatingly perfect. _Must be fucking witchcraft._ She also couldn’t help but notice the single droplet of sweat negotiating a tortuous path down the column of Regina’s throat, across the sharp point of her collarbone, eventually disappearing into a valley concealed by black lace. Emma caught herself thinking about how she’d like to trace the same path that sweat drop had followed with her tongue. _Fuck. I must be delirious. I think dehydration can do that._

The doors opened, and Emma almost knocked over Graham in her haste to get to the bathroom. There were some things that you really didn’t want to share with your arch-nemesis; emptying your bladder was definitely one of those.

Graham had teased her later, asking if he should maybe have left the doors closed for a little bit longer. She’d threatened to stab him with a pencil if he ever mentioned it again.

*****

Regina was breathing heavily as Emma shoved her up against the wall of the mausoleum. She could feel the insistent throb of her lip and the coppery taste of blood on her tongue. It was exhilarating. She smiled as Emma cocked a fist, and from the look in her eyes, she couldn’t quite decide if Emma was going to throw the punch, or thrust her harder against the wall and do far more interesting and enjoyable things. Either was fine with her if she was honest; she hadn’t felt her heart race and her blood pump like this in what seemed like an eternity.

She was dimly aware of Graham wittering away in the background, but ignored him to focus on the fascinating and irritating woman in front of her. Emma Swan had brought motion and colour back to this sepia-toned still-life, and Regina couldn’t quite decide if she wanted to kill her or kiss her for that.

She was roused from her intent contemplation of the virtues and evils of Emma Swan by a sudden tremor in the earth. Emma released her and they both turned to watch in horror as a sinkhole opened up and swallowed Graham into the earth. They stood there looking at each other in shock, before they inched their way towards the edge, carefully peering into the dark. It was useless – there was simply no way to see anything down there.

Emma called out, “Graham! Graham! Are you okay? Can you hear us?”

When there was no response, Regina picked up a stone and dropped it into the hole. She waited for the sound of the impact. _More than two seconds. This hole is at least 20 metres deep._

“Miss Swan. I’m afraid that this is pointless. There simply is no possibility that he could have survived a fall that far.”

Emma was sobbing uncontrollably and Regina awkwardly reached over to pat her shoulder. “There, there, dear.”

She briefly thought about pushing Emma in after Graham, but it just didn’t feel right. _Too opportunistically brutish, and not enough opportunity for double entendre or gloating._ After years of scrubbing bloodstains from her hands, she’d come to realise that she really did prefer the clean, elegant simplicity of sleeping curses, particularly with the ample opportunity they afforded for devising sexually suggestive metaphors relating to fruit.

When she had stopped thinking about all the possible ways she might ensure Emma Swan’s demise, Regina felt something that she thought might have been sadness. _Graham, you stupid, handsome piece of furniture. Why?_ The saddest thing was, she was going to have to invest in a new vibrator.

*****

Regina was on the verge of sending her tailor an angry e-mail. This would be the third time she was having to send this particular shirt back to be fixed, and it wasn’t the only one she’d had this problem with. The same button kept popping open at random times of the day, and she was sick of realising halfway through a conversation that yes, once again, the girls were out on display. She’d caught the Sheriff (both the former and current occupants of the role) staring at her chest on multiple occasions during meetings, and she’d frequently had to resist the urge to throw the immensely heavy paperweight that rested on her desk, particularly at that dreadful Swan woman. The ongoing lack of magic had been frustrating; there had been a time when with a mere wave of her hands, Emma Swan would have been charcoal.

She reflected that her biggest mistake when casting the curse had been a failure to build an element of competition into Storybrooke’s business community; if she had her time again, this town would be a shining monument to capitalism and the power of market forces. Unfortunately, hindsight was 20/20. As it was, there were simply too many monopolies in this town, and thus, she was forced to keep going back to the same incompetent tailor who clearly had no idea how to fix a goddamned button-hole. She was in the middle of using Shift-F7 to find synonyms for “gobsmackingly inept” when the Sheriff walked into her office.

“Madam Mayor.”

“Sheriff Swan. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Her tone made it clear that it was anything but.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” Emma took a step forward, intending to lean against the edge of the desk. Instead, she tripped over a rug that she could have sworn wasn’t there last time she was in the office, and spilt her coffee all over Regina.

Emma tried to offer Regina a napkin, but her hand was quickly slapped away. She stood there unsure of what to do.

Regina’s hands were shaking with fury as she undid the buttons of her blouse and shrugged out of the sleeves. She reached around to unhook her bra, which was also saturated with coffee that had been criminally adulterated with cream and sugar, and it was only when she heard Emma make a weird strangled noise that she realised she was in the process of stripping in front of the Sheriff. She tried to still her hands, but they continued to twitch towards the fastening of her bra. _What am I doing?_

She leaned down and grabbed the edge of her desk, trying to find a way to occupy her traitorous hands. Emma Swan, she noted, was staring at her chest yet again. “What the hell are you still doing here? Get out!”

Emma shook her head as she left the Mayor’s office. That was the sixth time this week she’d tripped. She’d never been ballet-dancer graceful, but she also wasn’t _this_ accident-prone. However, since coming to Storybrooke, she’d come to sport the most incredible collection of bruises and scrapes, and to add to the indignity, Regina had witnessed every last incident. Her knees, in particular, were incredibly tender, like she’d played volleyball without knee pads, or spent the afternoon under the Mayor’s desk servicing her every whim. Emma pulled a horrified face at that last thought. _I must have hit my head. Maybe I should make an appointment to see Archie._

She was beginning to wonder if she had vertigo, or if this was something more sinister, something related to the seemingly unrelated series of bizarre things that always seemed to be happening to her and Regina. Since the curse had broken and magic had returned, she had started to wonder whether there might be some sort of spell affecting the two of them. Whatever the case, she had failed miserably at broaching the topic, and she was pretty sure it would be a few days before she could get within talking distance of Regina for more than a couple of minutes.

As it happened, it was much longer than that. Gold’s fucking Wraith, and her own stupid goddamned Saviour complex meant she’d spent months marooned in a land without running water or even basic cable, and only a pack of weirdos (including her disturbingly young mother – _I definitely should make an appointment with Archie_ ) for company. She’d returned to Storybrooke with lank, knotted hair, an extreme distaste for Chimera meat and a ragingly bad case of athlete’s foot, and had been followed a short time later by a needy, whiny, annoying pirate who seemed to think that telling rape jokes was a valid seduction method. She wasn’t sure what was worse: the foot fungus or the pirate. All of that horror paled in comparison though to being spoilered by Leroy for the Red Wedding episode of Game of Thrones before she’d had a chance to catch up on her backlog of shows. _So much rage._

*****

Things continued to get weirder in Storybrooke. If the incident in the elevator last year hadn’t been bad enough, she managed to get herself trapped in the supply closet at Town Hall with Regina. It had been worsened by the fact that she’d somehow managed to fall under the influence of some kind of truth-spell or truth potion. Emma wracked her brains for what might have happened and all she could think of was the cup of tea that Henry had so kindly made for her earlier that morning. _Perhaps he accidentally used the wrong jar, or inadvertently mixed some teas that had a chemical reaction._

Regina, of course, had taken a great deal of delight in the fact that she had her arch-nemesis/occasional drinking buddy/co-parent at her mercy. Her mind was positively overflowing with questions. _So many delicious possibilities._

“Let’s start with an easy one. What’s your favourite colour?”

“The colour of chocolate with 70% cocoa content. Kind of like your eyes, actually. Not too sweet and slightly bitter.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “You surprise me, Miss Swan. I was expecting a primary colour, given how simple your mind is. Next question. What is the first album you bought with your own money?”

Emma clamped a hand to her mouth, trying the hold back the sound she knew was going to come out. Regina regarded Emma with some alarm, as she began to turn a strange shade of purple. Finally, she answered.

“Celine Dion’s Christmas album.” Emma panted, trying to get her breath back. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can’t believe I just said that out loud. You have to promise never to tell anyone, ever.”

Regina smiled the smile of a predator that sensed its prey was weak, vulnerable. _This was proving to be even better than she expected._ “How very embarrassing for you, dear. Next question: How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

“Fifteen.”

“Is there anything that you’re afraid of?”

“Being alone. Also, kohlrabi, because I once saw a horror movie with an alien that looked exactly like it. I shudder every time I see it at the greengrocer.”

“Have you ever had a threesome?”

“Almost, but I kicked my boyfriend out and just hooked up with the girl instead.”

Regina felt like gloating. _I knew it. All that flannel, and those tank tops, and the way she hooks her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans._

“Would you rather have sex with Bill or Hillary?”

“Hillary.” Regina smirked. _I love being right._

“What really happened to Hook?”

“He drank some cursed rum he stole from Gold’s shop and shrunk down until he was only an inch tall. I bought an aquarium and a little sailing boat for him, and now he just floats around trying to avoid being capsized by the cichlids. I find watching it all strangely relaxing.”

“Now this I have to see, just as soon as we get out of this damned closet.”

*****

Emma crawled out of bed, still tired after working the late shift. They’d had 21 days of peace in Storybrooke and counting, and she hoped that today would continue that trend. David was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. He looked up and frowned at her as she sat down.

“Emma, I think we’re going to have some trouble on our hands today.” He handed her the newspaper. “Read this.”

Emma squinted at the headline, and then read it again because she couldn’t quite make sense of it. “ _Giant earthworm terrorises Storybrooke’s ethnic communities._ ” She frowned and rubbed her eyes. “What does this even mean?”

David regarded her seriously. “Someone has mapped out all of the unexplained sinkhole events over the past few years, and it seems that the victims have had one thing in common: they’re not white. Sidney, Lancelot, Mulan, Tamara, the list goes on. There’s a theory that it’s the work of a giant white-supremacist earthworm, or perhaps a white-supremacist magic user controlling the earthworm.”

“What about Graham? He fell into a sinkhole too.”

David shrugged. “Exception that proves the rule?”

“That’s not even a thing. An exception _disproves_ the rule.” Emma put her head in her hands and groaned. “Ugh. Today’s going to be a disaster, isn’t it?” _Why did I jinx things with my stupid, misplaced optimism?_

David nodded grimly. “Yep. If there’s one thing Storybrooke does well, it’s an angry mob. We’d better hit the streets.”

They headed to the main street and started to patrol. Emma screwed up her nose in disgust as she walked past the hardware store. There were wooden torches and pitchforks prominently displayed in the front window, and a sign saying: “Want your torch to last longer? Ask us how.” _Fucking opportunists._ She noticed a suspicious number of townsfolk milling around in the street. Something was definitely going down today. Further down the street, she noticed a new display in the window of Tom Clark’s pharmacy. _Skin-lightening creams? I fucking hate this town._

It was as if there was some sort of inaudible signal that only fairytale hillbillies could hear, because suddenly the disparate elements coalesced into a large, angry mob. Someone produced a 44-gallon drum seemingly out of thin air and set a fire in it. _Is there some sort of angry mob by-law that requires at least one fire to be set in the middle of a road?_ Emma shook her head and ran to catch up to David. They tracked the mob’s progress for a while, and what a surprise, they were heading in the direction of 108 Mifflin.

The mob came to a stop outside Regina’s house, and as was the wont of mobs, they angrily started arguing with each other about what they should do next. Emma and David took that opportunity to take position directly in front of the door, which opened shortly afterwards to reveal the mistress of the house.

Regina surveyed the scene in front of her wearily. “What is it this time?”

Emma laughed nervously. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. As far as I can tell, they think you conjured up a giant earthworm that’s been creating the sinkholes all over town.”

David helpfully added, “They think the earthworm has racist tendencies on the basis of its choice of victims.”

Regina pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a sudden pressure building behind her eyes. _Why did I curse myself to live in a town full of idiots? What on earth was I thinking?_

“And why do they think I have anything to do with it?”

Emma shrugged. “Honestly, don’t know. It’s probably just because your front lawn is big enough for them all to assemble on.”

The angry mob seemed to have reached a resolution and appointed a spokesperson. He stepped forward.

Emma whispered to Regina, “Who is that guy? Do you know him?”

Regina looked at Emma incredulously. “Do you think I’ve concerned myself with learning the names of every last peasant?”

The spokesperson raised his fist and started to speak, sensing his opportunity to finally make a name for himself. Possibly even two. “For too long, we have allowed injustice to flourish in this town unanswered. For too long we’ve allowed our brothers and sisters from the diverse nations of the Enchanted Forest to be sidelined and sucked into wormholes. To you, the ex-Mayor formerly known as the Evil Queen, I address our demand for satisfaction. We will not allow your racism to taint our town any longer.”

Regina twisted her lips into a snarl. “I shouldn’t even dignify this baseless accusation with a response, but I will. If you cast your minds back, you would all remember me as an equal opportunities tyrant. I can say hand on heart that I have never discriminated when choosing my victims.” She paused, and swept the crowd with a withering glare. “Besides, you imbeciles, I’m a Latina.”

Almost as one, the members of the mob cocked their heads to one side, like a group of particularly stupid Staffordshire Terriers, and looked at her in confusion.

The spokesman, not yet willing to relinquish his shot at fame (or at least, not complete obscurity) pressed on. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, you moron. I should incinerate you where you stand. Except…” Regina choked over this part. “Except, I’m reformed. I have a support group, a sponsor, the whole shebang, and I want you to know it’s been 876 days, 1150 days or 8763 days depending on which timeline you use, since I last killed an innocent.”

There was some muttering among the mob, before one-by-one, they lowered their torches and pitchforks.

A random member of the mob-formerly-known-as-angry stepped forward. “So, Madam ex-Mayor, what should we do about these sinkholes if you didn’t cause them.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Not that I have any obligation to assist you, but I suggest that you go talk to your precious Snow White and ask her to fund the geological survey that I sent out a request for tender for before you all so politely asked me to resign my office. In case you idiots hadn’t noticed, this town is built on old mining land.”

There were a few nods of agreement within the crowd. With that, the invisible chemical bonds that had held the mob together dissolved, and Regina breathed a sigh of relief as the townsfolk straggled their way out of her front garden. The relief was quickly replaced with anger when she noticed that the bastards had trampled her orchids again. _It took months to get those established. I should have incinerated every last one of those imbeciles._

Regina was brought back to herself by the sensation of being clapped on the shoulder. She looked over at Emma and wrinkled her nose in distaste. _Why am I surprised that her version of supportive is to behave like we’re playing team sports?_

“I just want to let you know that I’m proud of you. It took incredible strength not to blow them all up.” Emma dropped her voice. “Between you and me though, I probably would have thrown at least one fireball. Seriously, why are there so many idiots in this town?”

Regina looked pointedly at Emma. “Well I did try to get rid of at least one of the idiots. Somehow, it just wouldn’t stick.”

Emma batted her eyelashes. “Aww… you’re so sweet.”

Emma was about to broach the topic of the series of weird events in Storybrooke, when she was distracted by an explosion and the sounds of distant screams. She called out a quick farewell as she ran off to investigate whatever the latest outbreak of trouble was.

*****

The next time she’d tried to have a conversation with Regina about the weird stuff going on, that fucking douche-canoe, Robin Hood, had gone and gotten himself eaten by some weird panther-lizard thing that she’d accidentally unleashed from an artefact she’d found in Gold’s pawn shop. Regina had refused to talk to her for weeks, which was probably fair enough if Emma was being honest. And then Mrs fucking Haagen-Dazs had come to town and tried to add Emma to her creepy harem of blonde girls. Thinking about it still gave Emma shivers.

At that point, Emma had given up on trying to have a conversation with Regina about anything. Ten failed dinner invitations, and eight undrunk shots of tequila later, Emma decided that she was going to have to go it alone on this one. It seemed that pretty much any time they were in danger of being in the same place at the same time for more than two minutes, some fire-breathing three-headed dragon-alien from Scandinavia would swoop in and the town would be in mortal peril again. Or one of them would be turned evil, or sent to another world, or sent to New York, which pretty much was an alternate reality anyway when measured against Storybrooke.

And so, Emma decided to do what the town was actually paying her to do and investigate the strange phenomena. After following several false leads, she’d eventually stumbled on something, completely by accident: a surveillance device. With this discovery, Emma was convinced that there really was something going on, that she wasn’t just paranoid or crazy. She’d enlisted the help of an old contact from her bail bondsperson days, and he’d finally come up with the goods. Based on what he’d told her, she was certain that Regina would want to know about this.

In spite of their apparent inability to occupy the same approximate space-time coordinates, she and Regina actually seemed to be in a relatively good place right now. Neither of them had tried to kill the other in quite some time, and Henry occasionally brought home tasty baked treats, supposedly just for him, but there always seemed to be just enough for Emma to have some. And most of the time they seemed to be Emma’s favourites rather than Henry’s, although occasionally it would be something Emma hated (quite the achievement considering Emma’s near-spiritual relationship with sugar). Emma kind of figured that it was some sort of cookie-related semaphore system in which Regina communicated her relative level of approval or disapproval through means of butter, flour, sugar and a dash of love or loathing. Based on the awesome triple-choc cookies that Henry had come home with yesterday, Emma figured she was safe to try to visit Regina today.

Emma drove carefully across town, walked up the path, checking for obstacles with each step, before arriving on the porch of 108 Mifflin curiously unscathed. She rang the doorbell and kept a wary eye out for flying donkeys, grenade-throwing unicorns and unexplained tectonic activity while she waited for Regina to answer.


	2. The road to hell is paved with queen-sized beds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all I can offer is my most sincere apologies. I don't even know what made me write this.

* * *

Regina answered the door, and Emma took a quick look around behind her before darting inside.

“Quick, lock the door and pull the blinds down. We need to make sure the house is secure.”

“What’s going on?” Regina eyed Emma suspiciously.

“If your phone rings, ignore it. If there’s someone at the door, don’t answer it. If you hear an explosion or the sound of distant screams, don’t check it out. I don’t want us to be interrupted.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea you were so desperate to get me alone, dear. I’d have taken a little more care choosing my outfit if I’d known.” Her lips curved into a seductive smile, as she brushed an invisible speck of lint off her sleeve and patted her hair to make sure it was looking its best.

“What?” Emma shook her head, confused. “Not important. What I wanted to talk to you about is the series of strange events we’ve been subjected to over the past four years.”

“Strange events? I am… was… the Evil Queen, and your parents are Snow White and Prince Charming. I would have thought you’d realised by now that _strange_ kind of goes with the territory.”

Emma waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, I know all of that. But I have good evidence that there is a broader scheme at work here. Have you ever wondered why we always seem to be getting trapped together in strange places, or how I keep tripping over things that shouldn’t be there, or how sometimes we both just do things that don’t make any sense?”

“Honestly, nothing you do makes sense to me, dear.”

“But do you sometimes feel like someone or something else is interfering directly with your thoughts and actions?”

Regina frowned. “Dr Hopper made me take that test. The correct answer is no.”

“Wait. Let me start over.” Emma wracked her brain for a way to explain the combination of instinct, paranoia and somewhat flimsy evidence she’d gathered that pointed to a conspiracy centred on herself and Regina.

“I found a surveillance device, a while ago and I asked an old friend to look into it for me, see if he could find out who planted it. He couldn’t find out exactly who had planted it, but during the course of his research, he stumbled upon some concerning online chatter that strongly suggested that there is someone out there orchestrating events in Storybrooke. Events specifically related to you and me.”

“So why didn’t you bring this to my attention earlier?” Regina was furious to discover that once again, she was just a pawn in someone else’s game.

“I tried. Every time I tried to start a conversation about it, something weird happened and I got distracted. And we’ve kind of hardly seen each other in the last three years.”

“What about Neverland?”

“I was pretty focused on getting our son back safe and sound.”

“Fair enough. You could have called me, though.”

“I tried. Every time I started to dial your number, a flying monkey swooped down and stole my phone. I lost three brand-new iPhones that way.”

“Oh.” Regina frowned. “I guess that explains these text messages then.” She handed her phone to Emma.

“Oh, god. You actually thought I sent you this?” Emma shook her head as she read them out. “ _Hey Gina. You, me, a banana split with extra whipped cream and a Planet of the Apes marathon. How about it?”_

“Now that I think about it, it does seem implausible.”

“You bet your ass. You know that I know that you’d set my hair on fire if I called you Gina.”

“That’s true.” She really didn’t want to do that. _Such pretty, pretty hair, like spun silk kissed by the sun. She wanted to… unf…_

“And anyway, I told you ages ago that I’m allergic to bananas.”

Regina frowned. “You’re actually allergic? I just thought that was a euphemism.”

“A euphe-what? Never mind.” Emma continued scrolling through the messages. “And really, this one? _You can be the Evil Queen of my jungle anytime. Obscene-winky-smiley-face._ Does that sound like me? _”_

“Alright. I’m sorry, I just thought you were trolling me. There was another one that said something about kale salad, root beer and a park bench.”

Emma blushed. “That one was actually mine.”

“Oh.” Regina thought about exploring that revelation further, but there was more pressing business at hand. _Maybe later._ “So why didn’t you use your landline?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I can never get near it. My mother spends most of her day calling TV psychics. And when she’s not on it, Henry’s tying up the line talking to his girlfriend.”

“What about the phone at the station?”

“Didn’t want to get busted for using city resources for personal stuff.” Emma shrugged. “You were always a bit of a hardass about that. Remember that time you made me shine all your shoes with my tongue because I used a post-it note from the stationery closet to write a shopping list?”

_That was a rather pleasant memory._ “You could have written me a letter.”

“I tried. One of my mother’s bastard bluebirds stole it out of my hand. I tried to shoot it and get the note back, but it crapped on my car and flew off. I gave up at that point. I mean, what other option did I have?”

“Sky-writing? Strip-o-gram?” Regina frowned. “Why didn’t you try a strip-o-gram? I could have done with a pleasant distraction once or twice in the past couple of years.”

Emma shrugged. “I actually did look into that possibility. The only person who does them in town is Leroy, and no one needs to see that.”

Regina shuddered. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“Anyway, my friend tipped me off to a lead that we should follow; he gave me an address in LA. I managed to book us a flight on Oceanic Airlines out of Portland. It leaves tomorrow afternoon.” She’d just assumed that Regina would be coming with her, and it seemed that in this, at least, Emma had got it right.

“We’re flying first class, right?”

Emma shook her head. “Nope. Some of us didn’t curse ourselves to be rich beyond dreams of avarice. Cattle class it is, on a low-cost carrier. That’s all I can afford with the lousy wage the city pays me.”

“Stop angling for a raise, dear. You know we don’t have the budget with all the repairs we’ve had to make over the past couple of years.”

Emma felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at the alert she’d just received. “Fuck. I just got a message saying that Oceanic Airlines has been grounded indefinitely by the Civil Aviation Authority for safety violations. That was the only flight I could get out of Portland for the next two weeks; we’re going to have to find another way.”

“We should look for flights out of Boston.”

They searched for flights; the earliest they could get was a flight in two days time, and it would have to be first class.

Regina gloated, while Emma mentally calculated how many months she would have to live on nothing but instant ramen to afford her ticket. _Six months. Damn. Maybe I can get Henry to invite me over to dinner more often…_

*****

The morning they were due to leave, Emma commenced her usual crawl to the breakfast table. David frowned at her and handed her the newspaper.

“I’ve got some bad news.”

Emma screwed up her face; she felt unequipped to deal with bad news until she’d had at least two coffees.

She sighed. “Just tell me.”

“There’s been a volcanic eruption and the entire United States airspace is filled with volcanic ash. All flights are grounded. Indefinitely.”

There really wasn’t much that Emma could say to that. “Damn.”

She finished her coffee and then called Regina.

“Have you seen the news this morning? We’re not going to be flying anywhere for a very long time. Some volcano with too many consonants in its name has erupted and the entire US airspace is closed.”

_“Fuck, shit, fuck. Fucking fuckers. Fuck.”_ Regina so rarely swore, so it was doubly shocking to Emma when she did. It was kind of like hearing a nun swear, albeit a nun who wore tops with ridiculously low necklines and sinfully dark lipstick. Okay, so not like a nun at all. Emma held the phone away from her ear until she was sure that the stream of invective was over.

“So, are you up for a road trip?” Emma half-expected another torrent of curses. She was surprised by the meek capitulation on Regina’s part.

_“Sure. We’re taking the Mercedes though.”_

“Well, yeah. No argument here. As much as I love my Bug, I don’t want to drive 3000 miles in a car with dodgy cooling. Listen, I’ll come over and we can plan this out properly.”

Emma drove over to 108 Mifflin. As she walked into the front garden, she was surprised to see the Mercedes sitting up on blocks, its wheels missing. _Regina’s going to be pissed._ She rang the doorbell and waited.

Regina answered the door and Emma eyed her cautiously, trying to gauge her mood. “When’s the last time you drove the Mercedes?”

“Yesterday. Why?”

Emma cringed away pre-emptively. “You might want to take a look at the car.”

Regina rushed outside, and Emma was once again impressed with the speed and grace with which Regina managed to travel on a pair of precariously high heels. Emma jogged over to where Regina was standing, hands on hips, clearly furious.

Regina turned to face her, and the look in her eyes could have melted Tungsten. “I blame you, Sheriff, for the growing crime problem in Storybrooke.” She sighed. “I’m going to call Michael Tillman and see if he can source me some new wheels.”

Regina pulled out her phone and dialled the garage. Michael had just picked when Regina was distracted by a strange creaking sound and then a crack as loud as a thunder clap. She watched in horror as an enormous oak tree came crashing down on top of the Mercedes. Emma looked over at Regina who was standing there, stunned.

Regina sobbed quietly to herself. _What a waste._ _Such a fine piece of German engineering._ Her beautiful car had not deserved such a terrible fate. It had never hurt anything, apart from Snow White’s ugly floral hat the time she’d repeatedly driven over it. She couldn’t understand why it was that everything she loved was taken from her. She looked around for someone to blame, someone to lash out at, but Snow White was nowhere to be seen.

“Looks like we’re taking the Bug.”

“You must be so pleased,” Regina snarled.

Emma shook her head. “Not really. I was kind of looking forward to driving something with a little more power than a lawn mower.” She reached over and patted Regina’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know how much you loved that car.”

After they’d recovered from their latest setback they eventually got on the road. Emma had looked incredulously at the enormous pile of luggage Regina had stacked at the bottom of the stairs. She had only brought a small duffel bag, with the essentials.

Emma grumbled as Regina stood by and watched her carry the cases out to the car. “Why can’t you use magic for this?”

Regina had snapped at her, “Why don’t you?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’d probably turn your luggage into a pile of rotting fish heads, or something, by accident.”

Regina smiled in a fashion somewhat akin to a piranha. “Well you’ll just have to keep carrying them then.”

Regina watched as Emma lifted another of her cases, enjoying the play of muscles in well-toned arms. The pain of her loss was still sharply acute, but Emma’s gun show was certainly proving to be a welcome distraction. _I wonder if she’d notice if I added a couple more suitcases to the pile?_

Emma wiped the sweat off her brow as she carried yet another case out to the car, wondering what Regina had packed to make these suitcases so damn heavy. “You know we’re just going on a road trip, right? We’re not moving to LA permanently.”

An hour into the trip, Regina was still mourning her car. She pulled a face at the sensation of cheap vinyl seats against her skin, and the smell of grilled cheese and donuts that had engulfed her the moment she got into the car. She missed the cool, expensive feel of high-grade leather and the subtle scent of leather conditioner that she lovingly applied once a week. Most of all, she missed the trunk that was big enough to transport two dead bodies; Emma had made her leave behind two of her suitcases, claiming that if she took them all, there wouldn’t be enough room for her small duffel bag. She was outraged at the lack of consideration Emma had shown; what if there was an occasion that demanded a full-length ermine-trimmed robe? What would she do then? It simply wouldn’t do.

She was jolted out of her reverie when Emma spoke. “You can choose the music.”

Allowing someone to look at the contents of your iPod is kind of like fisting, Regina reflected. It requires a level of trust and intimacy that is simply not possible for most people. Regina, herself, had never thought that she would be capable of that level of openness with another person, that level of soul-baring honesty, but for Emma Swan, she thought she just might be. If only Emma would get with the program. As a result, was surprised when Emma handed over her iPod and gave Regina carte blanche to explore. Regina frowned as she scrolled through the contents. _Sarah McLachlan, Missy Higgins, Indigo Girls, Tegan and Sara, Ani DiFranco..._ Regina rolled her eyes. _There’s a river in Egypt…_

“Do you have anything on here that’s a little more road-trip-appropriate, perhaps something a little less Lilith Fair circa 1999?”

“Hey! That’s some A-grade road-trip music you’re dissing.” Emma glanced over at Regina who looked unconvinced. “Okay, there’s a playlist called _‘other’_. Maybe there’s something a bit more your speed in there.”

Regina navigated to the playlist and grinned widely. “Springsteen! Now that’s the ticket.”

They drove for a few hours, leaving Storybrooke far behind. They found a hotel in Springfield, which turned out to have only one room available, with a Queen-sized bed. Emma suggested that they look elsewhere, but the desk clerk shook his head and explained that there was an international dentistry convention in town and that they’d been lucky to find a room at all.

Emma had been pacing the room for the past hour, and Regina looked up from the book she was trying to read and made an exasperated sound.

“Dear, why don’t you go down to the hotel bar for a drink so that I can read in peace?”

Emma looked at her with horror in her eyes. “I can’t even believe you’d suggest that; the bar will be crawling with dentists. No one should have to be exposed to that many middle-aged white men in Hawaiian shirts.”

“I’m not sure that you’re in a position to judge, paragon of fashion that you are.” Regina’s tone was drier than the Sahara.

“Hey, this look is a classic.”

“Only if by classic, you mean hobo-chic.”

Secretly, Regina dreaded the possibility that Emma might stop wearing tank tops and skinny jeans. Storybrooke would be so much less scenic without that view. Therefore, she made every possible effort to rile Emma up about her wardrobe, recognising the powerful motivation that Emma’s stubborn, bloody-minded desire to irritate her provided.

Emma continued to pace, and Regina threw down her book in frustration, having only made it through two pages in the past half hour.

“Why don’t you come to bed? We should get an early start tomorrow.”

Emma had taken her suggestion on board, and Regina watched as Emma made her way around the suite preparing for bed. She turned down the covers and arranged herself in a pose that she thought was rather seductive; it had certainly worked for her in the past.

“I guess I’ll take the floor.”

“There is more than enough room in the bed for both of us.” Regina smiled in a way that she hoped was warm and inviting. “I promise I don’t bite, dear.”

She did, but there was no sense in scaring away a tasty, tasty morsel like Emma Swan away before she’d had a chance to enjoy her. Perhaps Emma’s rather unpredictable superpower had decided to reactivate itself at what Regina considered to be a rather inopportune moment, because she watched with disappointment as Emma grabbed a pillow from the bed and a spare blanket from the closet and built herself a nest on the floor.

On the second day of the trip, they’d managed an early start and had well and truly left civilisation behind. As the sun was starting to set, they pulled into a nondescript town that looked exactly like the last eight they’d driven through and Regina checked Google Maps. There were seven motels in town. They tried each one in turn; so far four were booked out, and two had only one room with one bed, which Regina didn’t really mind, but Emma apparently did. It astonished Regina to think that there was such huge demand for accommodation in towns that were barely a dot on the map, but apparently it was high-season in Hick Town. Regina leaned against the car, drinking a horrifically awful gas station coffee, waiting for Emma to return from checking out the last place.

Emma walked swiftly towards her, shaking her head. “Get back in the car. We’re not stopping here. We’re driving until this awful hick town is not even a distant speck in the rear-view mirror.”

Regina sighed. She was tired of driving, and really just wanted to stop somewhere and try to jumpstart her apparently faulty powers of seduction. “What’s wrong with this one? Only one room again?”

“Far, far worse. There was a taxidermied squirrel at the reception desk.” Emma shuddered. “What sort of sick freak comes up with something like that?”

Regina was shocked. Even during her decade-long reign of terror, she’d never crossed a line like that. She’d tortured, she’d maimed, she’d butchered entire villages. But she’d never once felt the urge to display the mummified corpses of tiny forest creatures.

They passed through town after town, and in every one they were strangely unable to find accommodation with more than one room and more than one bed available. Regina had laid claim to the bed every night, because there was no way that she was slumming it on the floor. Meanwhile, Emma had obstinately chosen to sleep on the floor out of some misplaced sense of honour, or something, despite Regina’s best efforts. As a result, Regina was frustrated. She’d been hoping for at least a little bit of accidental spooning, but Emma Swan was either incredibly dense, incredibly stubborn or both. She’d made a point of packing some of her best nightwear, and it was rather annoying to think of all of that tastefully expensive fabric going to waste.

Emma had become progressively more irritable over the course of the trip. Sleeping on the floor for the past few nights had left her with an awful crick in the neck; she really needed to sleep in a bed tonight. Emma decided to plan ahead and book a place with multiple rooms in advance. She decided to try her luck on Air BnB and was excited to find a 2-bedroom place available in a town that would be just about the right distance away.

Emma grew more and more cheerful as they got closer and closer to their stopover. _Mmm… A real bed, with a real mattress that’s all mine. No need to worry about accidental night-time snuggles._ They reached the house, and Emma just about skipped up the path, or she would have if her spine wasn’t currently twisted into the shape of a pretzel. A smile spread across her face as she rang the doorbell.

The woman who answered the door looked at her in confusion. “We’re not interested in buying whatever it is you’re selling.”

Emma frowned. “I booked two bedrooms for tonight. I’m sure this is the address. My name’s Emma Swan.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh dear. I think you’ll find that you booked two rooms for this time next year.”

“No, I definitely booked them for tonight.”

“Sorry. You definitely didn’t. I do have a fold-out sofa in the living, though. You’re welcome to rent it for the night. You probably won’t find anywhere else to stay for at least another three or four hours from here.”

Emma swallowed the curse that was bubbling up her throat. “Okay. We’ll take it.”

She walked back to the car and hit her head against the window a couple of times. “FML. Fucking seriously.”

*****

After two weeks, they were finally driving into Los Angeles. They’d had an unscheduled week-long stopover after the Bug had broken down in some god-awful backwater, and by this point, Emma was so sore and sleep-deprived that her rage was in constant threat of spilling over. Over the past couple of days, random strangers on the street had started recoiling away in horror when they saw her red-rimmed eyes and generally strung-out appearance. Regina, on the other hand, looked just as fucking perfect as always.

They found the apartment block they were looking for, and lurked around the entrance waiting for an opportune moment to get into the secure building. They’d buzzed the apartment earlier and ascertained that nobody was home. When they were inside, Emma made quick work of the lock on the door; she pushed it open, and they both stood, stunned at the display that greeted them.

Emma frowned. “I think I saw something like this on an episode of Criminal Minds, once.”

They entered the apartment, locking the door behind them. Regina surveyed the room. There was an entire wall of pictures of Storybrooke, with most focusing on herself, Emma or the two of them. On another wall there was a whiteboard that appeared to be covered with detailed plans and strategies, most of which was in a code that she couldn’t decipher. A corkboard held a series of blueprints that Regina recognised as belonging to various structures in Storybrooke, as well as a detailed map of the town and its surrounds.

Regina’s attention was drawn to the MacBook Pro on the desk. Even though her magic didn’t work outside of Storybrooke, she was still sensitive to the faintest hint of magic emanating from the device. She skimmed through the document that was open on the screen, and raised her eyebrows. It seemed that Emma was right. Someone was definitely interfering with events in Storybrooke.

They were interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock, and they looked at each other in panic. The studio apartment was entirely lacking in hiding spots; there wasn’t even a closet big enough for the two of them.

Emma whispered to her, “I’ve got an idea. Do you trust me?”

Regina nodded. Surprisingly, she really did.

The door was flung open at the same time as Emma grabbed Regina and pulled her into a rather stagey kiss. Regina frowned. _This is quite possibly the stupidest plan ever._ She hummed in appreciation as Emma sucked on her upper lip. _So not complaining though._

They were distracted from Emma’s brilliant decoy/escape plan by the sound of the apartment’s proper occupant sinking to the floor in a dead faint.

Regina raised an eyebrow. _Okay, not so stupid after all._ She hissed at Emma, “Now’s our chance. Let’s get out of here.”

Emma shook her head. “We can’t just leave her here. What if she’s hurt?”

Regina rolled her eyes. Sometimes, she really hated being one of the good guys. “Can we at least tie her to a chair?”

“No.”

“Not even with a laughably simple knot that a one-handed infant could unpick within two minutes?” Regina pouted, but Emma remained resolute.

“She’s already seen us, so we might as well stay and ask her some questions.”

After a while, the young woman came to, looked at Emma and Regina and promptly fainted again.

When the woman came to a second time, Regina loomed over her. She smiled a smile that managed to be both saccharine and utterly terrifying at the same time. “Now, dear, you’re going to tell us who you are, and why you’ve been meddling with my life and my town.”

The woman gulped audibly, before responding. “I’m just one soldier among many, engaged in a struggle that is older than time. Who I am doesn’t matter, but you can address me by my Tumblr username, ViceAdmiralSwen108.”

Regina continued to smile, her tone light and unthreatening, while Emma crossed her arms and loomed in the background like the hired muscle that she was. “A pleasure to meet you, ViceAdmiralSwen108. Now have you, or have you not, been influencing events in Storybrooke?”

“We have, but I swear that we only got involved when we learned of the terrible things that were being done to you.” There was a haunted look in her eyes, as she spoke, testament to the horrors that she had witnessed. “Perhaps you’ve heard of Sunnydale? We couldn’t stand by and watch while another Sunnydale happened.”

Regina nodded. “I’ve heard a few rumours over the years.”

ViceAdmiralSwen108 closed her eyes. “We did what we could, but we were too late. It was truly horrible.”

Emma had been listening with a frown. She finally spoke. “I tripped over objects that I could have sworn weren’t there at least a hundred times in the past four years. Was that you?” Emma was still kind of bitter about that; Henry had started a YouTube channel and posted as many videos of her clumsiness as he could get his hands on. He’d even offered a stake in the advertising revenue to anyone who could source him content, so of course he’d accumulated dozens of videos.

ViceAdmiralSwen108 looked slightly ashamed. “It was. Our ability to influence events is somewhat limited. We were trying to ensure that you and Regina interacted, because _They_ were trying so hard to keep you apart.”

“What else did you do?” Regina and Emma reeled off a list of incidents, and ViceAdmiralSwen108 either confirmed or denied them.

“What about the sinkholes?”

“No, that wasn’t us. I promise.” She paused. “Well, actually, Graham was partially our fault, but the others were all _Them_.”

Regina and Emma both looked at her sceptically.

“I swear we had nothing to do with any of the later sinkholes. We’ve actually managed to save a couple of people in the last few months. We heard a rumour about Mulan just in time to get her out; we managed to get her to a safe-house, and we helped set her up with a new identity. We had another success story recently with Maid Marian.” She frowned. “Actually, I don’t think you’ve met her. We were forced to extract her early.”

Emma was silent for a moment, taking on board all that she’d heard. Eventually, she spoke. “Listen, I get that you’re trying to help, but both of us have spent so much time subject to choices that other people have made for us, mere actors in a story directed by someone else. We’ve both been denied agency for too long, and it’s time that we take that power back. This is our fight now.”

Regina regarded Emma with astonishment, as though she’d just witnessed a monkey with a perfect grasp of iambic pentameter reciting the complete works of Shakespeare. “I’m pleasantly surprised, dear. That’s not the type of speech I ever expected to hear from you.”

“I kind of wound up auditing a Womyn’s Studies 101 class a while back when I was undercover trying to track down a bail-jumper.” Emma shrugged. “Obviously some of it stuck.”

Regina smirked. _I really love being right. So, so gay. Now if she’d just hurry up and realise that she’s gay for me…_

ViceAdmiralSwen108 regarded Emma and Regina with serious eyes. “I can understand your desire to take control of your fate. I do want to warn you though. We’ve heard a rumour that the enemy has directly infiltrated Storybrooke. You should be careful, they’re capable of terrible things.”

“We appreciate the warning.” Regina frowned. “Do you have any idea who or what we’re looking for?”

“All we know is that there are two of them on the ground. Sorry. That’s all the information we were able to obtain. Good luck.”

As they walked out, Emma surreptitiously pocketed a couple of the more interesting pictures to study later.

*****

They arrived back in Storybrooke a week later. Emma insisted on stopping at Granny’s for grilled cheese before they did anything else, and Regina just rolled her eyes and gave in. Emma was on her third plate of food, when Leroy and the other dwarves filed into the diner; she counted eight of them and frowned in confusion. Honestly, they all kind of looked the same to her most days, but she was sure there weren’t that many last time she checked. She cast her mind back to ViceAdmiralSwen108’s warning; there was something about the dwarves that was making her suspicious.

When Leroy went up to the counter by himself, Emma took the chance to interrogate him. “Leroy, I thought there were only six of you. Who are the others?”

“Our long lost cousins Spanky and Shifty came to town for a visit.” Leroy leaned closer and whispered, “Between you and me, sister, there’s something a bit hinky about them. I’ve never seen a dwarf that was as bad with a pickaxe as those two. One of them nearly took off Bashful’s head.”

Emma returned to the table and reported her suspicions to Regina. “What are we going to do with them?”

“I know what I’d like to do with them,” Regina said darkly, and the vase of flowers in the middle of the table wilted in response to the sheer force of her vitriol.

Emma clasped Regina’s hand in her own and gazed at her with wide, serious eyes. “I can’t let you do this to yourself. You’ve come too far to have your non-evilness destroyed.”

The vein in Regina’s forehead was throbbing with the rhythmic intensity of a dub-step track, and Emma watched as she squeezed her eyes shut, the tension in her body palpable. “I need to call my sponsor.” She walked over to a quiet corner.

In the background, Emma could hear Regina on the phone. She tried not to listen in, but she just couldn’t help being nosy.

_“Hi Faith… I’ve been having those feelings again… Sometimes I just really want to bathe in rivers of blood. It just does such wonderful things for the complexion. Have you tried it?… No, they’re not exactly good, but I’m not sure if they’re actually evil… Alright, I’ll get back into the yoga and Zen gardening again… Okay, love you too, girlfriend.”_

Regina finished her call and walked back over to her, just as Emma had a light-bulb moment. “I just had a thought.”

“Just the one, dear? Quick, someone call the Daily Mirror.”

Emma ignored her and continued. “There’s a place we could send them to, a little island in the South Pacific. There’s definitely no wi-fi and I’m certain they won’t be able to cause anyone any trouble ever again.”

Regina shrugged. “I don’t have any better ideas that don’t involve staking them out in the middle of a nest of fire ants. Let’s go with yours.”

They stayed at Granny’s for the next hour, watching the dwarves. Emma had had to order another two plates of fries, because Regina kept stealing them and then pretending that they’d been sucked into a quantum singularity. Their observations over the next hour had only confirmed their suspicions, and when Spanky and Shifty walked out of the diner together, Emma and Regina followed at a safe distance. They tracked the dwarves for a while, following them as they turned into an alleyway down in the docks district. It was now, or never. Regina raised her hands and looked at Emma as the magic started to flow between them.

Emma could taste Regina’s magic on her tongue; dark, heady, complex and a little bit fruity, just like a good Bordeaux. Their magic intertwined, a bold, potent chiaroscuro of power and sensuality, and Emma felt like every part of her was filled by Regina, and she was filling Regina in turn. She felt a familiar tremor in her knees; it was strange, this always happened when she and Regina made magic together. She’d tried making magic by herself, sometimes several times a day, but it never felt quite the same, quite so _satisfying_. Their eyes locked, a wordless communion and then release, simultaneous waves of power shaking them to the core and gushing forth. They stood there in the aftermath, breathing heavily. Regina’s eyes were slightly glazed, her lips parted, and Emma watched intently as the tip of her tongue, pink and glistening, came out to trace a path along her upper lip.

Emma surreptitiously crossed her legs as she realised that she’d ruined yet another pair of panties. “Did it work?”

Regina bit her lower lip, her fingers unconsciously coming up to stroke the skin along the neckline of her blouse. Her eyes caught Emma’s, intense, unblinking, much like a cobra hypnotising its prey. “It certainly worked for me, dear.”

With the threat apparently having been neutralised, Regina poofed them back to where the Bug was parked. As they drove to 108 Mifflin, Emma was silent, a thousand thoughts running through her head. If Emma was honest with herself, she’d never met anyone quite like Regina. She’d certainly never met anyone who owned an umbrella to match every single overcoat she owned. There was something strangely alluring about that, an oddly comforting veneer of orderliness that Emma Swan desperately craved. She felt a sudden clarity that had been missing for the past four years, perhaps even the past thirty-two. When she looked at Regina, she no longer saw the past; she saw the future, _her_ future.

They arrived at 108 Mifflin, and once again, Regina stood back and watched as Emma carried her suitcases, admiring strong arms coated in a light sheen of perspiration, and an ass that was hugged by delightfully tight denim. Emma unloaded the last of bags from the car, and Regina followed her inside, closing the door behind them. She trailed a finger down Emma’s deliciously-defined bicep, her lips curving into a smile.

“Can I fix you a drink to reward you for your hard work, dear?”

Emma grinned. “That would be amazing. I’ve really worked up a sweat carrying in those bags.” She shook her head, bemused. “I swear they’re twice as heavy as when we left, but I don’t know how that’s possible.”

They actually were twice as heavy, but Regina wasn’t about to tell her that.

Emma followed Regina into the kitchen and leaned against the island bench, watching her move gracefully around the kitchen. Regina handed her a drink, and Emma couldn’t help but notice the way that Regina lingered in her space. _How could I not have noticed this before?_ Their eyes met, and Emma was 97.384% certain that Regina was about to kiss her when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. The girl on the porch smiled brightly at them and held out a box of cookies.

“Hi, I’m selling Girl Guide cookies.”

Emma grumbled to herself as Regina went to get her purse. The girl continued to smile in a way that Emma honestly thought was kind of creepy, and Emma was pretty sure that she hadn’t blinked even once in the last minute. _Isn’t that like a sign of psychopathy or something?_

The girl still hadn’t blinked, and Emma was getting seriously alarmed. _Maybe she’s an assassin robot from the future? I wouldn’t put it past those bastards._

“Are you Emma Swan?”

“Hmm?” Emma was too busy observing the little sociopath’s blink rate to hear her question.

“Are you Emma Swan?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?” Emma was getting that weird, sick feeling in her stomach, like something crazy was about to happen again.

“I’ve been looking for you. I’m Persephone, your long-lost aunt’s husband’s third-cousin’s step-daughter, twice-removed by marriage.”

Emma gaped at the child for a moment, before she came to her senses. “Fuck off, and take your cookies with you. I’m on a diet.” She slammed the door.

Regina returned a moment later, purse in hand, looking puzzled. “What happened to the Girl Guide? Did you buy the cookies?”

Emma shook her head. “I sent her away. I’m pretty sure she was an alien space robot sent from the future to stop me from doing this.”

Emma leaned forward oh so slowly, and captured Regina’s lips with her own.

Regina sighed with pleasure, savouring the moment for as long as she could. Eventually she pulled back, looking at Emma with searching eyes. She’d waited so long for this moment and she could scarcely believe that it had arrived. “Is this real?”

Emma nodded. “It is.”

“Not a decoy?”

Emma shook her head.

“Not the result of a concussion?”

“Nope.”

“And you swear that you didn’t just trip and accidentally land in a way that made our lips touch?”

“Definitely not.

“Well thank fuck. It took you long enough.” She pushed Emma up against the wall, kissing her hungrily. Nothing, and she really did mean nothing, was going to stop her from bringing this very long dry spell to an end and getting her happy ending tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is not so much a love letter to my favourite tropes and this fandom, as it is a sloppy Golden Retriever-style tongue kiss. Hopefully it's not too awkward or gross.
> 
> I do feel the need to apologise to amycarey for clumsily misappropriating her squirrels. If you read this, I hope you don't mind - I probably should have asked first.
> 
> Also, if anyone does actually go by the username ViceAdmiralSwen108, let me know, and I'll change it immediately. Probably to RearAdmiralSwen108, or something like that.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for the next chapter, in which the road trip from hell happens


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